Down to Their Winchester Bones
by Aimlessly Unknown
Summary: There's no Winchester blood in her, but she's got Winchester bones for sure. /Back in the kitchen, Dean picked up one of her boots and tried to fathom the pathways of his daughter's mind./


The sunlight looked a lot like hell as it folded across the walls – red and orange and bright and constrained almost as much as it was wild on the dry wall. Dean came to associate a lot of things with hell, nowadays. The day was hell and the night was Purgatory – burning its black shadows into his bones. Making him heavy with grief. He bore the weight of the world well, carried it like ash against his skin – cloying and smelling eternally of death. But grief was not as kind. Grief was the ocean washing over him until his lungs were burning with no air and his body was crumbling beneath the onslaught.

Dean rested; slumped back against the walls of the house. Beside him, Sam was panting – gripping his bloody stake with both hands as if the pressure in his hands will crush the memory of two people being ripped apart. Darlene and Michael McCrimmon – the two orphans that found each other. Sam called it a good old fashioned fairytale of tragedy melting into joy.

No one ever mentioned the joy going back to tragedy. But then, Dean thought, the stories wouldn't sell quite as well if they had.

"Dean?" Castiel's dark voice – like gravel and angel-bells – wafted down the stairs. Dean could not get up, his body rebelled against him. But he didn't need to. Castiel descended, graceful even while Grace-less. If Dean looked hard enough, he could maybe muster the sight of Castiel's wings behind him. Sam used to say that he could see them in the sunlight, just a flicker – the rustle of feathers – but they were there.

Dean could never see them.

"What's up, Cas?" Dean asked, head lolled back against the wall. The silence (like Purgatory, Hell was always drowning in screams) was broken by a squall. Then, Dean's head snapped up – staring at Castiel, _really_ staring; eyes trailing down to the bundle in Castiel's arms.

A child; a goddamn _child_ – Darlene and Michael had wanted kids. Dean didn't know they had them.

"Is that a kid?" Sam asked, incredulous.

Dean shoved himself up, "No Sammy, it's a corgi."

"Shut up, Dean," Sam joined him – stake dropped on the floor, forgotten. Together the three stared down at the child. Her eyes were a dull blue – the colour of all children's eyes – and her head was covered in a small tuft of blonde hair.

"What do we do with her?" Sam asked. "We can't keep her."

"I know," Dean said. But Castiel's hands have tightened around the child and Dean knew that look in the angel's eyes.

"We have to give her to someone." Sam said. "We can take her to an orphanage. I'm sure there's one in town."

Dean moved to take the child from Castiel. But the angel's arms wrapped protectively around her, pulling her closer to his chest.

"Cas—" Dean began.

"She was born on Thursday." Castiel said uselessly. Dean didn't know if that was true or not – but he figured Castiel would know better than he did. Being the angel of Thursday and all. "She is my responsibility. I'll take her."

"Are you sure that's—" Dean tried again. It wasn't that he didn't trust Castiel, but he knew Castiel's penchant for being just a little too involved in humans (example: Dean).

"Let him," Sam said. Dean turned; Castiel looked so imploring it was hard to disagree. He nodded silently. And, without a word, Castiel and the girl disappeared.

/

"Bobbie Ellen Winchester, you get your ass down here _now_." Dean bellowed from the kitchen.

From upstairs there came a loud _thud_ as Bobbie scrambled to get downstairs. Inheriting her Uncle's clumsy nature rather than her father's graceful strut, the young woman skidded into the kitchen – slamming her hip painfully on the doorframe. Her long blonde hair was pulled up into a messy bun, strands falling over her oval-shaped face and she had grease all over her hands. In her hand was a wrench. Dean ignored the oil dripping from the wrench onto the white linoleum floor.

"What, Dad?" She asked, "I was busy trying to pop the transmission back on the V-10 for the race. Mine and Richard's Mustang are gonna gank those brats in their Corollas."

She grinned victoriously. "Of course, if we were racing my Cadillac, those bitches wouldn't stand a chance in hell."

(All sleek white and beauty from '59 crammed in the garage just for her – oh man, she'd never felt more of a rush than when Dad said "It's yours" and dropped keys in her hand)

Dean gave his daughter a hard look. She'd inherited his love of cars and his messy habits – as such he'd spent quite a few dollars giving her a new 'work studio' upstairs in one of their empty bedrooms. Both he and she adored the room, and many a bonding moments had been spent in that room. Despite Sammy's claims that having it upstairs was a terrible design since they had to carry each rebuilt piece down the stairs. But Dean and she didn't mind – it was fun and built muscle.

But that didn't matter at the moment.

"Did you spend three hundred dollars on a pair of SHOES?" Dean held up the credit-card report. Bobbie's eyes widened. She looked guiltily down at her pair of boots sitting innocently at the floor of the table. They were a tough leather with strong laces and a lightweight feel that made them perfect for running and working and doing just about everything.

Plus they were so _pretty_, she had to get them.

"Father said it was OK," She muttered softly to the ground. He had said it was OK, in his own austere way. Not that he understood the human need for money or how hard it was to earn. He'd really never worked in his life.

Then again—

"Well, _Father _isn't here, is he?" Dean said harshly. "I'd get it if you were buying a gun or more car parts, but for _shoes_, Bobbie?"

"Not everyone wants to buy guns and car parts, Dad!" Bobbie argued.

"_You_ do!" Dean bit out. Parties and gowns had never interested Bobbie, even since she was a child. She'd always asked more about why she couldn't go to a shooting range than why boys didn't like her. Though, Dean suspected, the two went hand in hand. Not a drop of Winchester blood in her. But Winchester bones to the core, he supposed.

(Had been too young to know how her parents died, but she wasn't too young to recall the screams. Yet, not once did she cry. Nope. Not a drop of Winchester blood, but if anyone was made more like a Winchester, Dean didn't know them – and didn't want to.)

"No I _don't_!" Bobbie said, exasperated. Dean's eyes widened as she continued, "I want to buy dresses and go out with Johnny Davis—"

"That punk kid with the Audi and hair cut like Mick Jagger?" Dean demanded, paternal instincts rising. It wasn't that he didn't trust Bobbie. It was that he didn't trust the world outside their doors. Outside where people could mock Bobbie for having gay fathers (or an absent gay father) or being adopted or being more interested in guns and cars and fighting than dresses and make up and Johnny Davi—

Wait.

"Yes, Dad; I want to go out with him and come home late and I want to be _normal_!" Bobbie said.

"So you don't want to come out with me and Uncle Sammy on hunts?" Dean asked. Part of him was ecstatic that she'd stay home (had taken more than a few months of begging for him to let her out with him on a hunt – he'd never wanted this life for her), but the other part of him had been used to reaching over and grabbing her, tugging her to safety as she made wise-cracks. Even Sammy had said, every so often, "she's like you, only better at this".

Bobbie froze. That wasn't it at all. She wanted the hunts. The danger and the freedom and Dad leaning over to whisper "_let's gank this son of a bitch_" as they cock the guns and run like hell. Uncle Sammy sneaking up to her and asking if she's OK while Dad is shooting the hell out of the damn rugaru that tried to take a chunk out of her. She loved it. She was looking _forward _to their hunt tomorrow. A goddamn skinwalker was out there and she ached to ice it before it hurt anyone else.

(Had only ever embraced the violence, never railed against it like Uncle Sammy had; she knew her limits, knew her rage all too well, and had only inherited her Dad's penchant for letting the rage out rather than any other emotion)

"Bobbie," Dean said – breaking apart her thoughts, "Do you want to stay home tomorrow instead of going on that hunt with me and Uncle Sammy?"

"I…" She whispered. Eyes wide, she looked up at her father. He was struck by the icy blue of her eyes. The almost unnatural blue that had bled in when Cas had blessed her (carved sigils into her ribs and ripped fallen stars from heaven to put in her eyes) and the hazy blue of childhood had sharpened into the blue of the virgin seas.

'_The blessings of angels_,' Cas had explained, cradling her in his hands. Dean had watched as Castiel hugged her, almost laughing at the small thing in Castiel's large hands. He'd never held her, till the moment Castiel set her in his arms. He'd promised to be back once he got the bottle and "be careful, Dean, she squirms" but Dean hadn't registered any of it. She was so tiny. Dwarfed just by his hands and how could they? How could they take her in? They were fucked up ten ways to and from Sunday; how were they to take care of something so small and precious?

But she'd blinked those owlish eyes up at him and gurgled. Reaching for his fingers.

And he'd fallen.

(Not that he hadn't struggled; hadn't yelled at Cas for keeping the kid.

"Dammit, Cas," He'd roared. "What were you going to do? Keep her? She's not a puppy, she's a human being! She scrapes her knees and needs medicine and food and diapers! What were you thinking?!"

The angel had looked so devastated. Turned away in shame and Dean's ire had fallen as hard as Castiel had years before. Then, Sam's voice came. "Dean, maybe this is it. Our sign."

"Our sign to what?" Dean barked tiredly.

"To quit." Sam said. "To stop hunting."

There had been silence, then. Silence for days while each of them thought, while each of them dreamed. And more silence still until two weeks had passed and a murmured _yes _had escaped Dean's lips unthinkingly when the baby first crawled towards him. Yes, he had said, and that was that. They moved to the suburb and Dean and Cas finally started their relationship while Sam and Dean got used to not living with each other. Only a few houses away, but still.

It had taken a long while, nearly two years before they acclimatized. Before Gabe came back and Sam and Gabe became what Dean and Cas were. And they were a family.)

Dean sighed laboriously. Running a hand over his face tiredly, he murmured, "Goodnight, Bobbie."

She took a step towards him, reaching for his hand. "Dad, I—"

"_Goodnight_, Bobbie." Dean said; finality in his voice. Reluctantly, Bobbie turned, walking out of the kitchen and out into the garage to sleep in the Cadillac. She always slept better in the car.

Back in the kitchen, Dean picked up one of her boots and tried to fathom the pathways of his daughter's mind.

/

Bobbie tugged her blanket over her head, lying down in the backseat of the Cadillac always seemed to soothe her. Something about the leather and hum and distant echoes of the outside – unable to reach her – made every muscle in her body relax. She had just shut her eyes when there was a _pop_. She knew that sound, knew it like she knew every curve of her body, every gear in the engine.

"Father," She whispered excitedly, jumping out of the Cadillac and not bothering to shut the door. "Father, you're home!"

She'd just gotten to the kitchen door, when she saw her fathers. They were facing each other, a good three feet between them. Bobbie stared at the chasm between them, turning horrified eyes up at their faces. Dean looked thunderous; Cas looked distant – as if he was somewhere else.

"What the hell do you mean you _can't _come home?" Dean growled. "You've got a goddamn daughter here, Castiel."

"I realize that, Dean," Castiel said, "However, regretfully, there is much to be done in Heaven before I can leave."

"Dammit Cas, you're not God! You don't need to keep shit together up there." Dean argued.

"I am the closest thing they have, Dean," Cas said. "I must make sure everything is settled there first."

"What about here, Cas? Can you remember Bobbie's last birthday you were here for?" Dean said.

It was true. Father hadn't been there for many birthdays. In fact, Bobbie only had one photo of Father at one of her birthdays – and it had been her very first birthday. She cherished that photo with all her heart. The image of Dad and Father smiling at the camera, with her sitting there – a tuft of blonde wispy hair and blue eyes – gurgling between them, would always be her favourite.

"I am sure Bobbie understands. I have responsibilities in Heaven." Castiel said.

"You have responsibilities here, Cas! You were the one that brought her here! That wanted to keep her! And now you're avoiding us!" Dean cried. "Come _home_."

Castiel turned his eyes down. "I will," He promised, moving to steal one sad kiss from Dean, "Soon."

With that, Castiel popped out of existence. Dean sighed tiredly, pulling out a chair, and sitting. Bobbie stepped out of the doorway. She stared at her Dad contemplatively. He looked up, unsurprised to see her. Quietly, Bobbie moved towards him, sitting down on his lap – like she used to do as a child. His arms came around her waist as she leaned onto his shoulder, nuzzling into his neck.

"I'll take the shoes back," She whispered to him. Her Dad let out a laugh, a weak one but a laugh nonetheless. He kissed the top of her forehead sweetly.

"That's OK, mongoose," He called upon her old nickname – bringing fresh memories of bike rides and demon hunts to mind. "You can keep them."

Bobbie wouldn't deny that she was happy she could keep the shoes. But part of her still wanted to cry. She wondered how many fights they'd had without her knowing, how many times her Dad had sat in this seat – with no one to comfort him – as the love of his life, his _husband_, whom promised to share a life with him and love and sorrows, left and did not come back for months.

Bobbie wondered if this was why Dad hunted: to get out of a house full of memories of being left behind; of being abandoned by Father. Distantly she vowed to go with him on every hunt, to never abandon him. She would dedicate her life to him: never marry, never love, just stay here with her Dad and make sure he never felt unloved ever again. She would work at the garage down the street for the rest of her life – give up her dream of being an engineer.

"Go to bed, Bobbie." Dean said, interrupting her train of thought. "You've got to get up early tomorrow."

Bobbie nodded obediently. She was already packed for it. Noiselessly, she stepped out of the kitchen. She padded up the stairs, staying silent until she heard her Dad enter his own room (not his and Father's, she thought numbly. Father used to be there, sleeping next to Dad, but not anymore). Once she was sure Dad was asleep – which wasn't hard, the man slept like a rock – she crept down the stairs.

She didn't bother opening the garage to drive. Instead, she opened the front door, locking it behind her, as she stepped out into the blistering cold. Jacketless, she walked through the December weather, towards the house at the end of town. A small house, sturdy but tiny, that stood alone at the end of the street.

The house where her Uncle Sammy and Gabe lived, happily; she envied them. Childless but together and she wondered if she'd ruined her Dad and Father's happiness by existing. Shivering like mad and teeth chattering, Bobbie knocked on their door. Predictably, her Uncle Gabe opened the door. He was dressed in pajamas and Bobbie relished the feel of heat as it streamed through to caress her gooseflesh.

"What are you doing here, gumdrop?" Gabe asked, ushering her inside. He dropped a blanket over her shoulders and, summoning a mug of hot chocolate, he did his best to warm her up. She looked up at him. She'd always loved Uncle Gabe. He was so easy to talk to, so sweet, and always ready with a candy bar and joke when things got tough.

At the speed in which the confession came out, it practically blistered her lips. "I left home because Dad is home alone and sad and Father is gone and it's my fault, and Uncle Gabe, why can't Father come home?"

Gabe stared down at his only niece. She looked tiny, wrapped in the blanket. Her lips were blue from the cold and tears were filling her eyes. He didn't know how to explain it to her that Castiel couldn't come home because he was afraid. So he filled the Winchester's heads with lies about duty, when in reality he was so afraid of hurting Bobbie and Dean that there was no way he could bear to come home and screw everything up.

The archangel took his niece in his arms, holding her as she leaned against him. They stayed like that for twenty minutes until, from upstairs, Gabe heard Sam rustle about. He'd probably heard Bobbie. It always sort of amazed Gabriel how light a sleeper his husband was – unlike his brother-in-law. Gabe was sort of upset that his husband has had his sleep disturbed – especially considering the hunt he's going on (Gabe resented that too, because dammit he's supposed to protect Sam, but he can't because Sam won't let him) tomorrow.

'_Today_,' Gabe corrected himself, looking at the clock. Gently, Gabe set Bobbie back onto the couch – giving uncle and niece a moment to themselves by excusing himself. He stood, pressing a swift kiss to Bobbie's forehead, and stepped away.

Bobbie turned her eyes to the stairs, where Sam's plaid-covered legs came into view. Followed by a naked torso and a bad case of bed-head; sleepily Sam asked, "Bobbie, what are you doing here?"

The archangel – from the doorway to the kitchen – watched as his niece suddenly went meek. She cast her eyes to the floor and repeated what she'd yelled to Gabe in a whispered hush. Luckily Sam was rather adept at understanding Bobbie's whispers. He'd had enough practice when she was a child and had been too shy to even look him in the eye, let alone speak at a normal volume.

As it was, Bobbie was feeling rather exposed. It wasn't that she didn't like talking to Uncle Sam as much as she liked talking to Uncle Gabe; it was just that she didn't want Uncle Sammy to get mad at Father. Uncle Gabe could do it because they were brothers.

But Sam took it well. He sat down next to Bobbie and wrapped his arms around her. She leaned into his chest, shaking with silent tears, but trying so hard not to cry. Sam smiled down into her hair, kissing her head gently, and whispered soft assurances. Slowly Bobbie started to drift off, safe in the arms of her Uncle, and in a happy home where angel and Hunter lived in harmony.

/

Dean burst through Sammy's door. He'd woken up, packed the Impala, and allowed Bobbie a few moments of extra sleep. She'd deserved it, especially after seeing his and Castiel's fight (he'd seen her, she hadn't bothered to hide, but Cas was so slippery nowadays – Dean had to try to get a hold of him in the time he had; he wasn't proud). Then, when he'd gone to wake her, Bobbie was gone. The bed was made and cold. There were no signs of a struggle and she hadn't screamed – therefore Bobbie hadn't been kidnapped or possessed.

And yet.

Dean couldn't help worrying, panicking over every little thing that tried to hurt his baby girl. Remembered freaking out when Bobbie was six and was bitten by a classmate – immediately worried that vampires and rugarus were after her in the guise of small children.

(He'd ignored Sammy's bitching when he took Bobbie into a tattoo parlor for an anti-possession tattoo of her own. Sixteen and hunting, he thought she was ready. His only concern had been that he had to wait until she was sixteen.)

So when he discovered she was gone, it was needless to say that Dean began to panic. He tore apart the house and searched the Cadillac. He raced outside and bellowed her name to the sky – causing the neighbors to yell angrily at him. But he didn't care. One last desperate thought clung hopefully to his mind; that she was with Sammy and safe and _not _in danger. Ignoring the cars and ignoring his health, Dean had taken off down the street.

When he burst through the door, he nearly ran Gabe over. The archangel's hands had come up, instinctively, around Dean's bicep and squeezed until Dean came back to Earth. Dean turned his eyes down to his brother-in-law.

"Is Bobbie here?" Dean asked desperately, begging Gabe to nod his head.

Instead, Gabe hushed Dean and cocked his head towards the couch. The panicking father turned to see Bobbie. She was tucked in Sam's arms – both of them dead to the world. Dean felt relief rush through him so strongly that he felt light-headed. He made his way over to them, kneeling beside Bobbie. With one large hand, he smoothed down the crazy curls of hair that had begun to stick up. His thumb rubbed against her temple, taking in every flutter of her eyes beneath her eyelids.

"She came here last night," Sammy's voice came. Dean turned to look at his brother, whose eyes were sleepily opening. "She was crying."

"She saw me and Cas arguing…" Dean said needlessly.

Gabe spoke, "Yeah, Dean-o. We know. She explained it all when she got here."

"And then they called me." A new voice said. Dean froze. Slowly he turned to face Castiel. The angel was standing in the doorway to the kitchen.

Dean turned an accusing eye to Sam. "But you didn't think to call me?"

"We did," Sam said. "Did you check your messages?"

Dean recalled nothing of the sort. Had been too panicked in finding Bobbie, he didn't think to check his phone. "Um…"

"I'll take that as a no." Gabe said shortly. He pouted at Sam. "Why do we even bother?"

"I believe they expected me to inform you in case the message did not." Castiel said.

"And why didn't you?" Dean said coldly. "Or were you too busy playing God?"

Castiel turned his eyes down. "I did not think to inform you. I merely appeared here, relieved at finding her safe."

Dean sighed, flopping down on the cushy armchair in the living room. "Yeah, I get that."

Castiel took in the lines of his husband's face. They were dark and carved out of marble, a sign of how tired Dean was. The angel could not recall a time when Dean did not look ages older than he was, except when they'd just gotten married and had Bobbie. In the times when Castiel was there, truly there, for Dean the way he had promised. A wave of fresh guilt washed over Castiel.

He hadn't kept his promise to Dean.

("_i swear_" he'd murmured to dean under a sunny sky. he'd promised to be the one that didn't break the promise, the one that dean could lean on and trust. and dean had smiled.)

With a sturdy resolve, Castiel walked over to Dean. He kneeled beside Dean, placing one hand on the Hunter's arm. Ignoring how Dean recoiled from his touch, Castiel spoke.

"I'm coming home, Dean." He said softly.

"Yeah, right, and I'm Elvis." Dean snorted.

"I do not understand that reference," Castiel confessed. "But I am coming home. For good this time."

"How long is 'for good', Cas?" Dean said, standing from the seat and pacing, turning to face Cas like an animal baring his fangs. "A month? A week? Because I can't keep playing this fucking _game_! This isn't Monopoly – you can't just put a fucking house down and then ignore it except when it's of use!"

"I don't u—"

"'Understand that reference' – yeah, there's a lot of stuff you don't get about humans," Dean snarled. "Like how marriage is supposed to work. Or how when you _say _you're going to stay with someone that actually means _staying with someone_! Not running off to Heaven like a goddamn child!"

Sam and Gabe watched on, silent, as the other couple fought. In Sam's arms, Bobbie began to stir. Her bright blue eyes fluttered open as Dean yelled, staring quietly as her parents raged. There was an unbreakable tension in the room – one that none of the three bystanders wished to breach. So they watched, nervously.

"They need me up there, Dean." Castiel said.

"Bullshit! They have Michael and God and all the other angels, why does it have to be _you_?!" Dean demanded.

"I…" Castiel had no answer.

"Exactly." Dean said shortly, turning to walk away. Before he could leave, Castiel grabbed his arm.

"I am trying to make this up to you, Dean." Castiel said lowly. "I am coming home forever this time and do not plan to leave."

"You can't promise me that, Cas," Dean said weakly. "Don't, because when you leave, it'll just be another goddamn shot to the heart."

"Why do you not trust people, Dean?" Castiel asked.

"Because they do what you did. They make promises they don't keep." Dean's voice shook. Bobbie's heart broke for her Dad, aching to run to him and make it all better. She just didn't know how.

Castiel turned Dean around, pressing a palm to Dean's cheek. "I am coming home, Dean. And I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you."

Dean's eyes were the brightest green Castiel had ever known. They gave away his every emotion, every thought, and every single desire of Dean's treacherous heart. And, right now, he saw a break. A line dividing Dean accepting Castiel back; and making Castiel leave forever. Taking Bobbie and Castiel's heart with him as he left. With nothing left to do, no other option he would ever consider (leaving gracefully, accepting defeat, and losing Dean and Bobbie to the world and his mistakes).

With little to no thought put behind it, Castiel smashed his lips against Dean's. There was a sort of strangled sound in the back of Dean's throat. Castiel's arms wound around Dean's waist, hauling him closer. Dean fought it for a moment – fought the trust and the desire to fall into Castiel the way he had earlier, the way he had when he said '_I do_'.

"Dean," Castiel whispered against his lips, "Dean, _please_."

Then Dean did what Dean does best. Dean threw caution to the wind. A groan of surrender tore its way out as Dean grabbed Castiel. They held each other for a moment, lips sealed together – uncaring (and unnoticing) of the three people on the couch, staring in disgust.

"Do they need to breathe?" Bobbie whispered to her Uncle.

"Well," Gabe said, "Angels don't."

Then Sam smirked. "And I'm still grateful."

"OK!" Bobbie exclaimed, shoving her way off of Sam as he and Gabe stared longingly at each other. "EW, I did _not _need to hear that!"

Dean and Castiel separated, grinning like fools. They stared, arms still around each other, at the disgusted face of their daughter. The girl took a step away from Sam as Gabe sat himself beside his husband – a hand tucked up on Sam's thigh.

"Oh god, will the PDA ever end?" Bobbie moaned to herself.

"I agree." Dean said.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the world's biggest hypocrite," Sam said, pointing at Dean.

"Hey, we've got a lot of healing to do." Dean defended.

"Yeah, sexual healing," Gabe said. From the corner of the room Bobbie pretended to vomit.

Her voice raised an octave, "Can we stop the sexual stuff and the kissing and the _ew_?"

Dean and Cas stared at her. She turned to face them. Suddenly the lightness of the room faded into a serious air. Bobbie looked up at Dean, then to Cas. Silence reigned. Slowly Dean opened his arms, eyebrow quirked. Bobbie stared at her fathers, standing beside each other and smiling – lips swollen from kissing.

A grin lit up her face as she raced forward, barreling straight into her Dad's arms. Her Father's own arms came around them both, and the Novak-Winchesters gripped each other tightly. From the couch, Sam and Gabe smiled.

Bobbie pulled away. "Wait, you guys aren't gonna start, like, _doing _stuff?"

"Shaddup, brat!" Dean teased, grabbing her back into his arms.

Bobbie gave a salty smile. "But then how would I express my sparkling wit?"

"We'll buy you a paint kit." Castiel suggested. "It is, supposedly, a good representation of emotion for kids such as you."

"Not a kid!" Bobbie argued. From the couch, Sam grinned.

"You guys are so cute!" He laughed, the tone of mockery tainting every word. Dean scowled at his brother, attempting to convey every dark thought he was having at that moment in his facial expression. But Sam was unaffected, and – instead – launched himself at his brother and his family, grabbing them all in a tight hug.

"DAMN IT SAM," Dean tried to yell, but all that came out was a hoarse whisper.

"Uncle Gabe," Bobbie gasped. "_Help_."

"LET GO, YOU SASQUATCH,"

"Sorry, kiddo." Gabe apologized insincerely.

"I'M GONNA HIT YOU,"

"Gabriel," Castiel's voice was choked but stern. Gabe rolled his eyes.

"_Fine_."

Without warning, Gabe lunged for Sam and the force of the blow knocked them all down to the ground. They tangled together, a mass of limbs and strangled yelps. Laughter bubbled out of all of them, spilling into the air and surrounding them with warmth and love.

Later there would be words between Dean and Castiel, later they would hunt and hurt and break, later they would try to pick up the shattered remnants of their life. But that was later.

This was now, this was hope and joy and family.

And to the Winchesters (to their bones and blood) there was nothing more important.


End file.
